WE HAVE SURPASSED EVERYTHING I EVER DREAMED OF GAIS! We have reached 85 reviews. It was the greatest thing ever! Do you think we can reach 100? It would be a fantastic birthday gift, but again, don't worry about it. There will be updates regardless, this is just a fun game. Anyway, you all wanted a bi chapter look at each Romano, so that's what we're doing. I promise to be quick about writing Romano's chapters, or as quick as I can. So...enjoy?
And before I forget, yes. 2p!England and 2p!France will both be making their way into this story eventually. Jetsir and I love writing their relationship. It's hilarious. To us at least.
I don't own Hetalia
"What the fuck happened to your hair, bastard?" was the first thing that was able to be properly articulated. America was supposed to be the golden boy hero or some bullshit like that. "A-And your eyes!" The sky blue that Romano thought was the one pretty thing on America was now a strange red color.
"Wha?" America looked at him as if he were insane and took a step back. "Since when do ya swear? That's my job." His voice was gruff, like gravel on a driveway, and not the usual hyperactive yelling he was so known for.
"What are you talking about? I always swear!" Romano looked around America, hoping for an escape route. That bat was huge, and he was going to get it to the face if he made the wrong move. He wasn't much in a fight, but running, hell, there was no one better save for Feliciano. Or rather…the old Felicaino.
"No. Ya don't." America looked him over again, his brows furrowing. "Ya say it makes ya sound unintelligent 'r some shit like that." Romano backed up further. What was he talking about? He couldn't give two flying fucks about how intelligent he sounded.
"W-What happened to my brother, bastard?" he asked instead.
"Waddya mean?" America lowered the bat from his shoulder and leaned against it. Romano figured he was lucky the other nation still hadn't approached. In fact, he almost seemed as wary of Romano as Romano was of him. "Don't seem different t' me."
"He just hung an entire family!" Romano almost yelled it, but forced himself to quiet down. If he yelled, people would come, and no doubt since they knew Feliciano was North Italy, they would know he was South Italy. Then he'd be in trouble. There was no doubt in his mind that Feliciano would find him then.
"And?" America shrugged a shoulder and Romano had half a mind to run up as punch the bastard in the face. That was no light matter. Those were people and Feliciano had stood over their bodies and smiled like a damn lunatic.
"Feli wouldn't do something like that!"
"Yer kidding, right?" America's mouth twitched into a poorly restrained smile. He choked on a laugh before letting it out entirely, leaning back on his bat and grasping his stomach. "Wow, I knew ya had a sick sense a humor hidden away somewhere, but wow." When Romano didn't join in on his laughter, America stopped, his smile fading. "Shit, yer serious, ain't ya?"
Romano trembled, unable to form a coherent sentence even in the confines of his mind. He still didn't know what happened or what was going on. Why was America acting differently? Why was everyone acting differently? Why did this city look so destitute, and since when were public executions legal?
"Lovi, ya look like yer gonna be sick," America said. Again, the concern was back in his eyes, and it looked like he wanted to come forward. Romano didn't know why he didn't. It wasn't like he had the strength to fight off the bastard.
"What happened?" Romano's voice was hoarse and tears slipped from his eyes once more. America took another startled step backwards, his eyes wide with alarm as Romano gave a choked sob.
"I…don't know what ya mean." America's eyes drifted over him. His brows furrowed and it looked like he wanted to hug him or something. Romano was half inclined to let him, because he suddenly wanted someone to hold him. It didn't matter who it was: Feli, Spain, just someone. He could do for Spain's cuddling and his gushing over cuteness right now no matter how annoying it was.
"What city is this?" Romano asked.
"Well…it's Verona," America said.
"V-Verona?" Romano looked around the familiar buildings, his heart hammering in his chest. This was the city where the play Romeo and Juliet took place. It was supposed to be beautiful, and bustling with tourists going to see Juliet's balcony and touch her statue. He told himself there were no similarities between his Verona and this one, for it was nearly unrecognizable, but he couldn't deny the familiarity he felt upon waking up. "No… bastard, this can't be Verona!" He turned his teary eyes on America. "Where's Juliet's statue?"
"Who?" America no longer leaned against the bat, but stood straight up with it gripped tightly in his hands.
"Dio." Romano's knees trembled so badly he feared he was going to collapse onto the disgusting ground again. "What about the Lamberti Tower?"
"No one builds towers anymore unless they're askin' fer a bombing," America said. "Lovino, yer startn' t' freak me out."
"I'm freaking you out, bastard?" Romano knew he was starting to get hysterical, and forced himself to calm down, though with little success. In two seconds he was probably going to hyperventilate.
"Lovino." America put the bat down and raised his hands. "Just calm down. Yer show'n weakness. Ya know Feli can't stand that. I don' wanna watch him hurtcha."
"H-He'd hurt me?" Romano looked at America, feeling his throat tighten. So he'd been right to avoid being spotted.
"He hurts ya every day." America's expression grew pained and he lowered his hands. "Ya take it 'cause ya taught him that way, remember?" Romano shook his head. He'd never teach Feliciano something so horrible. He whimpered softly for a few more seconds before he decided to risk it, and dart around America. To his shock, the larger nation didn't try to grab him or get in his way, but skittered backwards as if he thought Romano was capable of hurting him.
That thought would have been laughable if there weren't more pressing matters on his mind. Romano bolted out of the alley and around the people walking. He heard America calling for him, but ignored it. A few people gave him odd looks, but no one bothered him. In fact, they seemed to go out of their way to avoid him. This couldn't be Verona. Not this horrible place. Yet the further he ran, the more the streets became the same until he finally skidded to a halt, his heart plummeting into his stomach when he realized where he was.
He was standing in another square, but what caught his eye was a downed statue in the center. A group of filthy children clambered all over it as if it were a playground. There was no respect in the way they played, laughing and pushing each other. Romano suddenly felt a deep hatred churn in his heart. That was a monument, one of his and Feliciano's many beautiful pieces of art. It wasn't something to play on.
"Get the fuck off of that, you little bastards!" Romano surged forward and the children looked up and scuttled between the surrounding buildings like cockroaches darting from light. Romano stopped before the statue and had to cover his mouth again to suppress his sobbing.
The statue of Dante was in pieces, the head a few feet away from the actual body. Romano walked over to it, his heart aching and his lungs burning with the desire to wail. He heard a few horses clop by pulling wagons, and people continued about their business like this wasn't a tragedy, as if it didn't matter.
Romano dropped to his knees in front of Dante's head and reached out a trembling hand to touch the once white statue, now stained with grime and foot prints. He ran his fingers over the poet's face. The nose was gone, a crater of rough stone the only thing left. Romano gasped out a sob. He was in Piazza dei Signori. This was Verona.
"Lovino." He turned his head and saw America approach him. He was holding the bat again, and he stopped a few feet away. His red eyes were confused and still a little alarmed. "Why ya cryin'? That thing's been down since Spain invaded."
"What dimension have I walked into, bastard?" The question was meant to be rhetorical, but something about it struck him. One moment the world had been fine and the next he woke up here. Feliciano was insane, America was gruff and dark-haired, and it seemed as if the entire world was at war. As crazy as it sounded, it was the only explanation. He was in a different world. Romano sniffed and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "I…I don't belong here."
"I don' understand." America's eyes held an unbearable amount of pity, and perhaps a mix of an entirely different emotion that Romano wasn't entirely comfortable with.
"I'm not from this world," Romano said. "Listen bastard, I know it's crazy, but it's true. I'm not from this world. Fuck, I don't even know what's going on!"
"I believe ya." America shifted his body so that Romano was looking at his profile. America's eyes looked from him to the edge of the square, and it didn't take a genius to figure out that he was trying not to turn his back on Romano while waiting for something else to show up. "My Lovino...ain't like you." There was something in America's eyes again that Romano couldn't read. He thought it might have been longing, but the idea was far too strange. He and America didn't talk unless it was for business. They weren't friends, not by a longshot, and America, like everyone else, preferred his sweeter brother.
"What is he like then?" Romano hastily scrubbed at his eyes.
"I—" America stopped speaking and his eyes widened in a way that reminded Romano of a spooked deer. An odd note of what sounded like a horn blared through the square, and the larger nation grabbed Romano's shoulders and hauled him to his feet. "Run!" The way he said it, desperate and terrified, coupled with the sheer, unmasked desperation in his eyes, caused Romano to move without a second thought or argument. He ran into one of the nearby alleys and pressed himself against the wall. As soon as he had hidden himself successfully, three great black horses trotted into view. Romano suppressed another sob when he saw that attached to the horses' saddles were ropes that let down to the bodies of the Austrian family.
Feliciano sat on the horse in the center, while Germany and Japan rode at his side. A straight row of soldiers followed them, guns strapped over their backs and their posture rigid. Their tapping boots came to a simultaneous halt when their nation pulled back on the reins.
"America." Feliciano said the name as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. The horse snorted and Feliciano nudged it forward so that it was directly in front of the other nation. Romano cringed back further when he realized Feliciano was dragging the bodies of the father and youngest two children. The ropes were still wrapped around their necks. It wasn't unheard of to Romano to hang a prisoner and parade them through the town was a way to raise moral, but now he could see it as nothing but utterly barbaric.
"Brat." America had the bat over his shoulders again, and he looked up at the other nation as if none of the fear Romano had seen in his eyes existed.
"You missed the execution." Feliciano lifted a hand from the reins and gestured to the bodies. His voice sounded so cold, so matter-of-fact and empty. "My fratello did as well."
"Well ain't that a coincidence?" America's feet subtly drifted apart in what Romano thought was either a fighting stance or a running stance, and this America didn't seem to be the type to run.
Feliciano's nose wrinkled. "Hardly. You were off fucking him somewhere, weren't you?" Romano felt his cheeks redden despite the terror clawing at his chest. So he had been right when he thought he saw longing in America's eyes.
"No." America didn't back away. "I ain't seen him. I just got off the train from Russia's place, if ya hafta know."
"Ve, spare me," Feliciano said. "I know the only reason you're helping is because Romano offered you a tight hole to fill." Romano shuddered. America's hands noticeably tightened on the bat handle and he slipped the sunglasses over his eyes.
"Ya shouldn't talk about him that way."
"It's true." That sick smile was back on Feliciano's face. He was baiting America, and Romano saw that it was working. "I know you don't care about him. A warm body is a warm body, si? Not that I can complain. You have proven yourself useful, ve." The speech tic that belonged solely to Feliciano made Romano sick again. He imagined his brother spouting it before and after everything he said. This Feliciano made it painful, like a stabbing needle hidden within each sentence.
"What's it matter to ya so long as ya get my support?" America asked.
"Oh, America, America, America." Feliciano leaned over the side of his horse, and something glinted from the inside of his sleeve. Romano squinted, and saw that it was a long, slim knife, now skillfully pressed to America's jaw. "Let me make this very clear to you," he said so softly Romano had to strain to hear. "He was taken from me once, but came back for me and gave me all the tools I needed to make this world mine." Feliciano's eyes became half-lidded and his smile curved sharper. "Now tell me, who will he choose in the end? His fratello, or some fuck buddy?" After a moment of lingering, Feliciano pulled back and straightened. He turned over his shoulder. "March!" And with that, he tapped his horse's sides with his heels and lead the march again, the bodies dragging limply behind. Germany and Japan's horses fell in line as well and they were off.
It wasn't until the last soldier marched on, that America let out a snarl of rage. That horrible bat came down on Dante's head and crushed it entirely.
My God. You guys just keep giving me magical unicorn tears. I'll be able to cure every disease known to mankind soon enough.
